Letting Go
by PiecesOfEight
Summary: PostDH. Harry, Hermione and the Weasley children learn how to let go after Fred's Death. Chapter 4 Bill
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 – George**

When I first saw it, time stopped. The world ended completely. Fred, lying on the floor of the Great Hall, eyes closed, mouth open in a laugh. The air evaporated from inside me; my mouth dry. It was a numbness, an emptiness, I'd never felt before. A million things crossed my mind all at once: he'd never say my name again, he'd never laugh, never tell another joke. He was lost, as was I. Half of me was gone, entirely, forever. This injury couldn't heal, could never feel better.

I couldn't move, couldn't walk over to him so I stood, arms limp by my side, watching Mum cry. I watched, as Dad and Percy made up, drawn together by grief for my twin. I saw Ron, trying to be strong, holding Hermione while tears ran down both their cheeks. I saw Bill and Fleur together, mourning; watched as Ginny left, unable to remain by his side any longer. I barely noticed Charlie come over to me, barely noticed him talking to me, his voice breaking as I knew mine would. I couldn't say anything, wouldn't accept it, couldn't go near him, for fear that it was real.

Nothing mattered but him, lying dead next to other fallen warriors. It didn't – _couldn't_ – make sense. He was me. I was him. _Was_. We could never be together again, would never pull another prank, never switch places. I raised a hand to feel the hole where my ear had been. The first, but not last, hole that would remain forever in my life. My twin, my brother, my best friend was gone, and he could never come back.

_No! He's not gone. He's right in front of me! Any moment, he'll jump up, laughing his head off, another joke by my younger twin. And I'll be there, laughing beside him. _That's what I thought. I couldn't accept it. Not then.

We brought his body back to the Burrow next morning. I could barely look at him, wouldn't make eye contact with the rest of my family. It hurt too much. I thought about ending it all, about rejoining my twin. He was my protégé, and yet also my idol. The smart one, the witty one. He had the quick quips and the grand ideas for the shop. I had my own, but all were small gags, nothing too extravagant; Fred's plans were always brilliant. He once told me he looked up to me, that he worked so hard to impress me, but he was always the better one. He was truly dedicated. Yes, I thought about joining him, restoring balance to my life. But it wasn't what Fred would have wanted. He would have wanted me to stay, provide many needed laughs to the world. He would have wanted me to carry on, not dwell over the pain, the loss that came with his death.

At the Burrow, plans were made for a funeral. Dad, Charlie, and Percy took up the lead; Mum couldn't stop crying, Ginny comforted by Harry, Hermione by Ron, Fleur by Bill. They left me to brood with my thoughts. They had all cried at one point. Percy kept blaming himself. 'I was right there. It should have been me! I didn't see it coming, I could've stopped it…' I haven't cried. It's been weeks, and not a single tear has stained my cheeks. He wouldn't have wanted me to cry. He could never stand to see me upset, could always make me laugh when I was down.

They kept talking about having a big funeral, with a beautiful headstone. I wouldn't let them. They were the first words I had spoken since it happened. Mum stopped crying to look at me, everyone paid rapt attention. 'It should be small. Just us. Plain and simple, nothing too fancy. And we won't wear black. Black always depressed him.' Nobody questioned me. They knew how well I knew him – _know_ him – and did what I said. It was the first thing I had said, one of the only things I _have_ said. I can't speak. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't say… Well, nevermind. I couldn't say it if I tried.

Ginny and Ron kept coming to see me, but I couldn't face it. I haven't slept. I don't have a reason to wake up, and if I don't wake up … I let Charlie in though. We sat in silence, the only two in the family without anyone else. He's staying with me. I think we're both glad for the company, but we don't talk much. Well, that's not true. I don't talk much. He tries to get me to talk about it, but I can't. I stayed in the shower so long once, he thought I was trying to drown myself. I won't pretend it hasn't crossed my mind from time to time. He keeps telling me to talk about it, to cry. He says I won't move on if I don't cry. If I don't accept it. If I don't say … What I can't say. He nagged me about it so much, I couldn't control my temper. One day I lost it. 'Don't tell me to move on!' I was yelling. 'You didn't lose you other half. You don't know what it's like to have half of you torn away in a moment!' I felt bad afterwards.

People keep sending me gifts – money and whatnot – with 'heartfelt' condolences. I send them back. I don't need them; don't need to be reminded of it. I suppose they do. Most of them don't really care. There was a generic one from the Ministry a few days ago. I kept the money, but burned the card. The only thing I've done I know he wouldn't have wanted to miss. I kept telling myself that if I sent back the money, maybe it would make it less real. Maybe he'd come back. I tried to bargain my way out of it.

The funeral was a week ago. Two weeks after it happened. Charlie left early, upon my recommendation wearing the bright red robes Fred like so much. The ones that clash with our hair, but make Fred smile every time Charlie wears them. _Made_ Fred smile. I was already dressed in the acid green dragonskin coats we bought … but I couldn't bring myself to go. I couldn't see everyone's sad faces; Mum crying as hard as ever, Percy, Charlie, and Bill looking solemn. I couldn't have them worrying about me, and how I haven't cried, haven't let go. I refused to let myself join them, but stood in the distance watching the funeral from behind a tree. I think Ginny saw me, but she didn't say anything. Bless her, she's holding up so well. I suppose she does have Harry to console her though.

I haven't really done anything for four days. It's too hard; it hurts too much. I haven't slept, spoken, eaten, moved. I could barely pull myself out of bed yesterday, but I managed. I feel like an empty shell, but I still can't cry. I'm too depressed to cry. Lying in a dark room, curtains drawn, unable to get up off the bed. But I still haven't cried.

I found his Will five days ago. Don't know why he had a Will, it's like he expected to die. The Ministry sent it back yesterday, deeming everything in it acceptable to be passed. He left Mum and Dad a lot of his gold, Bill and Fleur the rare painting that used to hang in his room, Charlie his lunascope and sneakoscope, Percy all his school supplies and his best quill (ha ha. A joke, I'm sure), Ron his broom and Quidditch things, Ginny the formula for the WonderWitch products, and everything else to me. The rest of his prized possessions, his half of the joke shop, everything.

* * *

He also left a letter. It's addressed to me, but I'm too afraid to open it. I'm afraid of what it says, afraid that it'll make everything real. I'm afraid to find out what the last thing he'll ever say – well, write – to me is. I carefully peel back the wax seal. The paper is crisp, new. This must have been written just before it happened. I pull out the paper and unfold it carefully, holding it so gingerly you think it would crumble in my hands._George-_

I stop. I stare at my name in his familiar, slanted scrawl forever. It seems many weeks I sit there, staring at my name. I have to read on. I have to face my fears. He would want me to.

_George-_

_If you're reading this, if you've finally found this, it must mean I'm dead. I never thought that I would die first. I never thought that I would be the first Weasley to go. But if I am…_

_There's so much I want to say, so much I need you to know. You, as my older brother, were always my idol. I always tried to make you laugh before anyone else. If it wasn't good enough for you, it wasn't good enough for me. It's always been like that. You were always my best-_

I stop again. The next word is smudged, the faint outline of a circle is visible on the parchment. He must have been crying as he wrote it. Not much, but enough. Stupid Fred. Only he would think of something like this. I never did, never wrote a Will, never thought what would happen to Fred if _I_ were the one to die. He would be here, in my position, but with no letter. No way to know what I would've told him. I look carefully at the word. I can just barely make out the second letter to be a 'r'. It could be 'brother'. _Best Brother? That doesn't make sense …_ I settle on 'friend' because he was mine as well.

_You were always my best friend, the one I could tell everyone to without being judged, the one who understood me completely. Nothing made me smile more than finishing each other's sentences … but I guess we'll never do that again. Nobody else made me laugh so much. _

_If I know you as well as I do, you've been sitting with this letter for days, wanting to open it, but scared of what's inside it. Sitting alone, in the dark, wondering what would be happening if I had lived – or if you had died instead. Don't. I need you to be strong for both of us. The world always needs more laughs, more smiles. You need to say Goodbye. It must be hard, it must be like half of you is gone, but it's not. Half of _us_ is gone. Me. You're still there, ready and willing to spread the smiles. You're still whole, no matter how 'holey' you feel._

I can feel the tears welling, but they won't come forward. I bite my lip and feel that warm sensation, the tears stopping but not disappearing. I feel again for the hole where my ear once was. I can hear myself now, the memory feeling hundreds of years old. _'Saint-like. I'm holey, geddit?'_ My lips curve into an involuntary smile. He was always funnier.

_Never forget how we used to be: pranksters without a care in the world. We still are. Heaven, if that's where I am (and I'm quite sure I am), will soon be Weasley's Wizard Wheezes territory. Don't worry about that. Just make sure earth still is. Make me proud, for both of us._

_Don't blame yourself for this. I believe everything happens for a reason. You need to be strong on your own. Didn't you always tell me we wouldn't always be there for each other to hold on to? Just don't go forgetting me. Never forget me, as I know, wherever I am, I'll never forget you. We're two of a kind._

_Love,_

_Fred_

I re-read the letter several times. _Make me proud, for both of us._ We'll never be together again.

The first tear falls, splashing onto and absorbing into the crisp yellow parchment.

_We're two of a kind. _We're the same. We were the same. We'll never be the same again.

The second tear falls, leaving a warm tingling on my cheek as the sadness sets.

_Love, Fred._ It's the last thing he'll ever say to me, the last words he ever wrote. I can't forget him. I'll never let this letter go.

The tears are falling, fast and thick, onto the mattress as I lay on my stomach, head buried in my arms. I'm learning to let go. I have to. He told me to. _Never forget me._ I know I never will. He was me. I was him. As fast as they came, the tears stop. I sit up, shaking, still holding the letter. As soon as I calm I fold up the letter and place it carefully on the desk, picking up his picture instead. I look at it long and hard, staring into his eyes for what seems like forever. I close my eyes and whisper one word, then place the picture back and walk out of the room.

'Goodbye.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – Percy**

He was standing right next to me. He was laughing. It's the way he would have wanted to go. I lay next to him, thrown against the ground by the explosion. He wasn't moving. He wasn't speaking. He wasn't _breathing_. I tried to shake him, thinking it another one of his jokes. He couldn't be dead. He just _couldn't_. It couldn't happen. Not Fred. I heard the words escape my lips before I thought them out. 'No - Fred - no!' It wasn't fair. I was standing right there - _right there_ - and he was dead. It should have been me!

I'd just come back. My dream was all falling together. The world would be free of You-Know-Who. The Death Eaters would have their comeuppance. My family would be a family again. Whole. No more suffering. But when it happened... the dream was just that - a dream. All I cared about was my brother, lying dead atop the rubble. They couldn't do any more harm to him, I know, but I was determined to keep them from getting to his body. I lost my head completely, shielding his body from the Death Eaters' with my own. I didn't care that Harry was shouting at me to move, I couldn't leave him. I just couldn't. He was my brother! Ron eventually came over and helped me lift Fred's dead weight and carry him with us, his feet dragging unceremoniously along the ground. I don't know what came over me, but when those Death Eaters came after us, I turned around with every intention to hex them into oblivion.

We lay him on the cold stone floor of the Great Hall beside Remus, Tonks on Lupin's other side. The three fallen allies lying in a row. When Mum came over and saw him lying dead, she went into hysterics. 'He's not... he can't be... not Fred!' She kept saying. I tried to comfort her, to show her that I was really back for this family. She sobbed into my shoulder for awhile, and I felt the dry tear tracks on me own cheeks. I didn't even notice I'd been crying. We were all there; Mum, Dad, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Harry, everyone that mattered except for George. Charlie noticed him standing in shock, framed by the double doors, and got up to talk to him. I wanted to go ... but I couldn't leave Fred. I had been there when ... when it happened. I couldn't leave his side. Not when ... it was all my fault.

We sat making funeral plans for a long time. Dad kept going on about who should come, and Charlie kept talking about something fancy. I thought he deserved it all ... but it didn't _feel_ right. George sat in the corner, brooding. He hadn't cried. From what I know - which isn't much, considering he's avoiding the family - he hasn't cried. He spoke, for the first time, settling the matter. Everybody paid attention. Even Mum stopped crying. Hearing him speak was like hearing Fred speak. He was our one connection to our late brother. He knew him the best. He looked me in the eye and said, 'It should be small. Just us. Plain and simple, nothing too fancy. And we won't wear black. Black always depressed him.' I just nodded. It was all I could do. George had the final say. If I would listen to anyone, it would be George.

I tried to visit George the next day, but he wouldn't come to the door. I must have stood outside for hours, hoping he'd come to the door. He didn't know, but I needed to talk to him. I needed to re-connect to the family. I needed to tie up loose ends. I needed to know what he was like. I couldn't say ... You know. I think he was still mad at me. Either that or ... I didn't want to think about the other reason. The possibility of losing not one brother but _two_ was unbearable. I knew he was there. He had to be. Ginny had already been there to see him. I left, knowing it was something he needed to go through alone.

I returned to the Burrow, where I was staying with my family for awhile. Trying to re-connect. They had accepted me back as warmly as if I had just gone on vacation. I know that they knew I'd come around, that I just needed time. It was stupid of me to leave. Especially since ... I'll never know my brother. Not properly. I think for them it was like having the old me back again. I stayed shut up in my room, staring out the window, not really looking at anything. I let my mind wander into the nothingness, overcome with grief for my little brother. I remember the day he and George were born. Vaguely, but I still remember it. They were so cute, but I remember even then they were little pranksters. They always loved causing mischief. I recalled all the memories I had, reliving them alone in my room. I don't remember eating. I remember the room darkening, and lightening, but I don't remember falling asleep.

I spent hours, maybe days, in my room, thinking of how I could change it. _It should have been me. I know it. Take me instead! Please, just ... bring him back. He needs to be here. I should have been the one ..._ I would go on like that for hours at a time, talking to nobody in particular. Just wishing to make the exchange. The pain was so bad I would lay on my bed for lengthy periods of time, unable to move. Unable to speak. Only able to cry. But the tears never came. The grief was torture. But I still couldn't say ... You know. I would hear Mum crying all the time. Nights where I managed to sleep, I would wake up and hear her crying uncontrollably. I couldn't fall back asleep, because hearing her crying brought back the pain. All at once.

It was a week after it happened that the letters started coming. I gather from Charlie that George was getting them too. Letters from random family friends sending their apologies and condolences. Like it helps, to be reminded of your grief day in and day out, magnifying the pain tenfold with every letter. They sent all sorts of gifts - mostly money. My parents would never keep it, but the letter sat in a pile, gathering more and more everyday. The Ministry one came the day before the funeral. I suppose they were trying to make amends for their mistakes, but I know now how wrong I was to side with them. I heard from Charlie that George burned his. I did the same, knowing that it was the right thing to do.

There was so much despair in the Burrow. Harry and Ginny sat in the living room for most of the day, everyday, talking and crying; Ron and Hermione did the same, but in his room. Bill and Fleur had returned to Shell Cottage, but Mum spent all day crying and Dad spent most of the time preparing for the funeral. There seemed to be no other topic among us. Every night we all got together in the sitting room and had 'family time', a new tradition. Most of the time we talked about Fred, or George, or Charlie, or Bill and Fleur, as none of them were staying in the Burrow. But there were always the long silences where nobody talked, and we were all lost in thought. Most of my thoughts were dark, of ending it so I could be with him, other thoughts brighter, reminiscent of the happy times, when there was no darkness, when we were all a happy family.

A week ago we held the funeral. It had been two weeks since ... well ... Upon George's request, we all wore bright coloured robes. Dress robes. I wore the green robes I had worn to the Yule Ball three years previously. Charlie showed up in his bright red robes, looking very much like a tomato on fire. Not a round tomato ... but you get what I mean. It was simple, just the family, Harry, and Hermione, with a minister. The headstone was plain white, the inscription shining in the sunlight.

_Fred Weasley_  
_April 1, 1978 - May 2, 1998_  
_Beloved Son, Brother, Friend_

George didn't come to the funeral. We waited for him as long as we could, trying to give him time, but I understood. He couldn't bear to see all of us gathered for Fred, looking sad. I wouldn't cry. I couldn't cry. I knew then that Fred wouldn't have wanted me to. He always loved making people laugh. He had never liked to see anybody feeling sad. He never let any of us stay sad. It's one of the things I loved about him. I stood at the side of the grave for a long while after the funeral. Looking down upon the fresh mound of earth. Staring at the words engraved in the headstone, willing it all to go away. Wishing it all to be a dream. He wasn't supposed to be the first one of us to go. I sat beside the grave, trying to let go. I couldn't. It was too painful to try.

Eventually Ginny came back to get me. Sweet girl. She knew him well too. 'He was here, you know. George. Came to watch. I don't think he can ...' Her voice broke. She was never the type to cry. She sat down beside me and we talked. Mostly about Fred. What he was like. I finally got to know my sister. My only sister. She knew him better than anyone expected. It helped, talking to her, talking to somebody about it. She always understood me.

Yesterday, we all went to see George. He finally let us in, with a surprise. He had found Fred's Will. Nobody knew Fred had left a Will, not even George. George looked drained, like he wasn't all there. We could tell he hadn't eaten, hadn't slept, hadn't cried. He hadn't grieved. We all worried about him, but we understood. We'd all gone through it. He just needed to do it alone. Charlie told me George feels like half of him is gone. I can't blame him. I just wish he would talk to us about it. About him.

Fred left us all something different. When it came to me, I couldn't hide my surprise. He had left me all his school things. I'm sure it was his idea of a joke ... he loved making fun of me for being book-ish. But I appreciated the thought anyways. I was happy enough I hadn't been forgotten. The worst part is, every time I write something I'll think of him. Every time I hear a joke, every time I read something I find humourous, I'll remember him. Remember him criticizing the bad jokes and coming up with ones ten times funnier.

I regret now all the times I ever told him off. Everything that happened makes me realize he was just being himself. He was the Fred we all knew - or thought we knew - and loved. All his quick quips, witty remarks, they were all him being him. I never thought I'd have to let him go. I'm not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready.

* * *

I am at his grave again today. I spend a lot of time here now. It's dusk now, and George comes and stands next to me. He doesn't say anything, and neither do I. We just stand, and everything that needs to be said is communicated in the silence. I look up at him, se the tear tracks on his face. He'd been crying. He'd finally let go. He'd grieved. The sight of him gives me the strength to begin to let go. George holds out a folded piece of parchment. It's written in Fred's hand - a letter to George. I read the letter several times, seeing the tear drops marking the parchment where I suppose both twins had cried. I can't hold back my own tears. Seeing his final words to his twin makes me realize that I'm ready. I hand the parchment back to George, who begins to walk back to the Burrow. He stops and looks back at me, asking if I'm coming. I go to join him, whispering only one word as I leave. I've let go.

'Goodbye.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Charlie**

Why Fred? When I walked into the Great Hall, all I saw was my mother's tear-stained face, the sorrow in my father's eyes. I couldn't see Fred, couldn't see the stillness of his frame, couldn't see the blank, glassy orbs of eyes that could have been staring at the ceiling. I couldn't see the laughter on his face. With every step I took closer he appeared clearer, but not until I was standing right beside him, staring down into his hollow expression that I could tell who it was; what had happened. Only one thought crossed my mind. Why Fred?

Everything was going our way. We hadn't lost - yet. He hadn't won - yet. Percy was back, the family was together again. We had been one Weasley short for too long, but now we'd be one Weasley short forever. I felt something on my cheek - something wet. I didn't realize until later that they were tears. Tears of grief for my brother. My little brother. I was sitting down on the floor, looking at him. Just looking, as if everything I wish I'd asked him was answered. I was staring right at him, and yet I couldn't stop thinking, _He's not gone. He can't be gone. He's right here ... just ... tired. He's tired. He _can't _be gone._ I knew they were empty thoughts, hollow thoughts, but that's how I felt. Empty. It became my mantra; it kept me from breaking down. It kept me strong, as I knew I had to be for my family.

I looked over Perce's shoulder at the double doors, staring avidly at a mop of flaming red hair. I rubbed my eyes ... _Fred? _But then I saw the ear. Or rather, lack there of. I saw the look of shock on my brother's face. I knew there must be a million things going through his head. He wasn't coming any closer, so I went up to him. 'George. George, are you alright? It's not easy, I know. Just come over.' I placed a hand on his shoulder and he seemed to snap out of his reverie. He wouldn't move. He _couldn't_ move. I stayed with him, stayed until he was ready to move.

I didn't notice time pass. Before I could say anything more to George, it was all over. We were on our way back to the Burrow. We were sitting in the living room, making funeral plans. I contributed best I could, making suggestions here and there, but the whole while I was watching George from the corner of my eye. He was brooding; he hadn't said anything, he hadn't cried, and he hadn't said anything about the funeral. I thought Fred deserved the best, and I said so. Perce kept saying it didn't feel right, but then the world stopped for one monumental moment and George spoke. Mum stopped crying, everyone turned around to look at George as he opened his mouth. 'It should be small. Just us. Plain and simple, nothing too fancy. And we won't wear black. Black always depressed him.' I felt the tears coming again, but held them back. George had the final say. He always would when it came to his twin.

The next day I was overcome by unexplainable frustration. I was irritated at all the crying, kept myself shut in my room. Well, not _my _room. _His _room. _Their _room. Fred and George's old room. I left the Burrow, went to stay with George instead. I knew he'd understand the frustration, understand the pain better than anyone else. I never understood why he let me in and no one else. I didn't think on it at the time ... I tried to reach out to George, tried to understand what he was thinking; _feeling. _A few days after I 'moved in', so to speak, he finally said something. It was more of a snap, really. 'Don't tell me to move on! You didn't lose your other half. You don't know what it's like to have half of you torn away in a moment!' I knew he was feeling the frustration, but mine had been defeated by overwhelming suffering. I replied, 'You think I don't know the pain? I would give anything to change it. I didn't want this ... I didn't cause this. I'd give _anything_ ...' but I broke off. He wasn't listening anyways.

I kept trying to talk to George, and after awhile he started to open up. Not much. But enough to satisfy me. I was talking to Perce about it too ... we were the three Weasley boys with nobody else. We had to stick together, even if I was the glue that held us from breaking apart. I remember the biggest scare I think I've had since it happened. It was a Thursday, I was eating breakfast. George trudged past me, dragging himself to the shower. He didn't respond when I talked to him. I heard the water start, but never heard it stop. George stood in the shower for two hours - I thought he was trying to drown himself. I won't lie, the idea had crossed my own mind.

Then the letters started coming. Letters stuffed with money (sometimes even food), accompanied by 'sincere' apologies and condolences. Reminding us of our grief, intensifying the pain. Especially when you can't open them at the time and open them after you've said ... Well, I don't think any of us can say it yet. Not me. Not Mum. Especially not George. He burned the Ministry letter. It was the only one he kept, sending back all the others. Burning that card was the first thing that's made him smile since it happened.

The funeral was ... not as expected. The date was a week ago, everybody wore their colourful best. We looked like a rainbow, really. I was the red (I don't think anyone else dared to wear red with our hair), Mum the orange, Fleur the yellow, Harry and Percy the green, Hermione and Bill the blue, and Ginny the purple. We stood around the grave in a semi-circle, the only black-clad person the minister. I think he was taken aback by the bright colours, but he got over it. The headstone was simple, with a classic inscription I don't think Fred would have liked much. It wasn't personal enough for him.

_Fred Weasley_  
_April 1, 1978 - May 2, 1998_  
_Beloved Son, Brother, Friend_

From the moment I left the house I knew George wouldn't come. I knew he couldn't face it, that the pain was too much. I felt the same way. I would rather have been back at home eating socks than go to the funeral. It made it so real. But I went. Half of me thought George was coming, but he didn't show. I left right after, watching Percy sink to the ground, staring into the ground.

When I got back, George was sitting in the dark, staring into space. I looked at him until he looked back at me. 'You didn't come.' I turned and walked away, collapsing on my bed. George yelled something from the hall. 'I did. Just not in the conventional way.' I was surprised he could muster up the response, he looked drained. I know he hadn't slept or eaten. I hadn't either. We couldn't. But I, at least, had cried.

George sent a letter five days ago. Or rather, he sealed it and told me to send it. He must have gotten a reply, however, as he gave us all a big surprise yesterday afternoon. The entire family showed up at the doorstep - I thought he let them in because he didn't want them to break the door down. But it turned out he had found Fred's Will. His _Will._ What 20-year-old has a Will? Apparently Fred had a Will. _I_ don't even have a bloody Will. But I guess I should get one. He always was a smart one.

We all got something special, something he thought we'd enjoy. He left me his lunascope and his sneakoscope. I don't know what use they'll be in dragon-handling ... but you never know. Maybe he found out about the ones that were lost in the fire at the office. Who knows? I was still in a mood when it happened, but I couldn't help but smile. He thought about me at least. He cared to know that I like gadgets. In receiving those items I felt he knew things about me I hadn't cared to share with him. He really was a great brother.

* * *

Right now, I'm eating breakfast. It's the first time I've eaten in a week. I can hear something coming from George's room. At least I know he's alive. At least I know he's doing something. It sounds like crying. I think he's crying. As suddenly as it started, it stops. I can hear faint sniffling from up the hall. The opening of a door, and slow rattling breaths. Footsteps approaching. I can see tear tracks on his face, and I know he's letting go. He's letting himself go through it. He's letting himself feel.

In his hand he's holding a letter. I can barely see George's name written in Fred's slanting scrawl. He sees me eyeing the letter and hands it over. I know this is what helped him. I know he's accepted it by the way he's looking at me. He gets up to eat something -_ eat _something - and I open the letter. As I read, I feel the tears slowly roll down my cheeks. I stare at his name for a few minutes, letting it sink in. I fold up the letter and walk back to my room. Taking out a family picture album I turn to a picture of the twins. The twins together. The twins whole. I quietly bring the picture up, almost touching my lips and whisper, so only he can hear it. Even though I know he can't. He'll never hear me again. But it helps.

'Goodbye.'


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to all of you for reviewing and I'm sorry for the long wait for the update. It's hard to top my last chapter, and I'm pretty sure I didn't anyway.**  
**

**Chapter 4 - Bill**

The tears were falling fast and thick down Fleur's cheeks. I held her in my arms, unable to do any more while facing the shock of the sight before me. My little brother, laughing in the face of death like he always said he would. I couldn't move any muscle in my body, just stand there like a cruel rigor mortis in reverse. He couldn't be dead – I was the one that felt lifeless. I could feel the tears running faster down my cheeks by far than those of my wife. They ran down the scars on my face, burning as they caressed the broken skin. This scar – the scar of losing a brother – would never heal. There would be no 'partial effects'. Just the one effect. Just the loss that follows.

Mum was crying the most, I think. My vision was so blurred with tears it was hard to tell. Through the thick wetness I saw a ghostly vision of my late brother framed in the doorway. When my eyes cleared, I realized it was George, horror-struck by the loss of his twin. We were all horror-struck. I remember thinking to myself, _It's only George._ I was disappointed. It felt like nothing – _he_ felt like nothing compared to Fred. Now, I can't believe I ever thought that. It must have been the grief. At that moment, nothing mattered more to me than having my brother back. I wanted – no,_needed_ the impossible. We all did.

Charlie went to talk to George. None of us could do much more than cry, or stare into the shadows, lost for words. At one point, Ginny walked away. She didn't say a word, merely left. I think it was too much for her to bear. It certainly was for Perce. He was hysterical. He repeated the same words over again, blaming himself. I blamed myself too. _You're wrong! _I wanted to shout out. _It's my fault! I failed him, as a brother, as a friend. I was never there to help, never there to listen!_ Fred always had a way of making other people see their mistakes. I didn't see mine until he was already…

_Gone. He's not. It's a joke, a prank. The kind of thing that Fred would find hysterical. Any moment he'll crack, rolling on the floor in laughter. _Then I regained my sense. Fred was never that cruel. He would never be that cruel. He'd never have the chance.

We took responsibility for transporting the body, father and I. We brought him back to the Burrow, brought him home for the last time. We all knew, going into it, that this was the final battle. I guess we never realized how final it would become.

I must have cried for hours. The tears were still falling, slowly and unnoticed, as we sat in the Burrow, arranging a funeral. Fleur was distraught, I held her close in my arms as we felt the loss together, sharing the burden. Inwardly, I knew we didn't share it. She couldn't feel my pain at that moment. My little brother. He had always been my little brother. Even after Ron was born, he'd always been the little one, always been the silly one. He'd always brought the laughter into our lives, the dual act of Fred and George. I can't even imagine what it must have been like for George. He wouldn't look any of us in the eye. He refused to speak. He refused to cry.

Dad brought the topic round to guests, but Charlie dragged it back to the service. He said he thought Fred deserved the best. I agreed with it all. Perce didn't feel right about it. I agreed with that too. Mostly I agreed with George. His voice, so like Fred's, made time stop. The room stood still for a moment, while George input his opinion. Even Mum stopped sobbing to listen. 'It should be small. Just us.' He said. 'Plain and simple, nothing too fancy. And we won't wear black. Black always depressed him.' I wouldn't question George on this. He knew best for this. It was the only thing he said. I think it was the same for me, the less said, the easier it was. But we were wrong. It was never easy.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't think about eating, or sleeping. My eyes had run dry, and no more tears would come. I couldn't say the word. I couldn't have said … You know … If I'd tried.

I returned to Shell Cottage with Fleur the day George went back to his flat. I'm like a zombie. I still haven't spoken much – maybe three words. I've barely eaten. Sleep won't come easily, and it won't stay. My waking hours are filled with thoughts and painful memories. He haunts my dreams. The entire cottage is engulfed in a dampened mood. Fleur is no better off than I am. She left to go see her family two days after we returned to the cottage. She hasn't come back. I'm not worried about her, I know she's okay. I'm not okay. I won't be okay ever again.

On the fourth day the letters came. It's heart-wrenching, reading the sad condolences that amplify the pain to an unbearable magnitude. Every card is a reminder of the pain, of the loss. Every card is a word I can't say, a thought I don't dare form. Every card makes it real. I can't accept that. I won't accept that. Every gift of money that flies through the window makes the reality crisper in front of me, and still I ignore it.

I wore my blue robes to the funeral. Fleur came for the beginning, but left before the end – went back to her family. We were like a rainbow. The minister was shocked, and not a little surprised to see us all standing there in bright colours at a funeral. It didn't bother me. I knew that Fred would have appreciated it. It was a week ago, two weeks after he'd … left us. The way I think about it, he could have just gone on holiday.

The headstone was neutral, impartial, impersonal. I didn't like it much.

_Fred Weasley__  
_

_April 1, 1978 – May 2, 1998 _

_Beloved Son, Brother, Friend_

We got a message to the cottage yesterday, inviting us to go and see George. It was surprising, to say the least. George let us all in and sat us down. He drew breath slowly, before speaking. 'I've found something.' We all hung onto his words. He sounded pained, as if every word came at great personal risk. 'F-Fred left a… well, a Will.' Mum started crying again. I felt the bitter tears return to the back of my eyes at the mere idea.

Why would he have a Will? He was only 20! It's like he expected to die, like he wanted to make sure we could move on if he did… I'm the oldest brother, if anyone should have a Will already, it should have been me! Fred was always resourceful like that: brilliant, ahead of everyone else. I don't even think Mum and Dad have a Will. It was what the Will contained that came as a surprise.

Fred's most prized possession, after the joke shop, was a painting that hung in his room. He found it somewhere when he was 7, and refused to part with it. He called it his inspiration. George was reading the will in a shaky voice. 'To Bill, I leave my painting. It always inspired me, like he always has. I give him now my inspiration.' Those words will haunt me for the rest of my life. They mean so much. _He_ means so much. He always will.

* * *

I decided to stay in the Burrow. I've been here since the Will was read. It's better, I think, to be here at home with my family. George still hasn't been in contact. The house is filled with quiet contemplation. There isn't as much crying now, but tears are everywhere.

I'm in my old room. It feels good to be back home again. To feel like I'm part of a whole family. This family isn't whole. We'll never be whole again. We lost Percy so long ago. Now he's back, but he was never really gone. Fred's gone. He's gone to a place he can't come back from.

The house is in a stupor, one which I think will last a while. We buried Fred just beyond the yard, by the old apple orchard where we used to play Quidditch. I can see the headstone from my window. I often catch myself staring out at it, out at him. Today, Percy is there. He was there.

I look on in surprise as George appears. It's the first time I've seen him there, at the grave. The two of them stand still, silhouetted against the hill as the sun sets. The pair of them start walking towards the house.

I run down the stairs to meet them outside. Perce looks shaken, and George no more calm than he has been the last few weeks. They've both been crying. George finally gave in. He holds out a folded sheaf of parchment to me. 'It's from Fred.'

I look on in shock as he walks into the house. I walk absentmindedly to the grave, turning the letter over in my hands before finally opening it. Tears adorn the page, softening the parchment from the crisp yellow it once was. I can only guess that they belong to Fred, George, Perce, and Charlie. As I read the letter, my own tears add to the mix, absorbing quickly into the paper. It's hard to let go. He knew it would be. But he knew how to tell us it's okay to do it, too.

I pull out my wand, and utter a short spell. The last gift I'll ever give him.

_Fred Weasley_

_April 1, 1978 - May 2, 1998_

_Laughing Still, in the Face of Death  
_

It's something I know he would have liked, something he always liked to say. I put the letter in my pocket and whisper into the winds, before trudging alone back to the house.

'Goodbye.'


End file.
